Hands
by Melancholy Scissors
Summary: Nina is reflecting on her success during Crash of the Titans, but Coco manages to distract her in a way that leaves more of a mark on Nina than she could have expected. FEMMESLASH. NinaxCoco.


Drabble based around Crash of the Titans, not a Naughty Dog game. Quick, run in horror. 

_NINA/COCO. You've been warned. Nothing explicit, but it's there. I tried to write this drabble without implying anything, just going "well, if you want to look into it, it's there", but I found it incredibly difficult to write, and it was pretty lame. This is a total overhaul, and I hope it's worked out a little better. Nina's POV._

* * *

Well, these school holidays are proving to be my most successful yet. You could almost say I've gotten to that goal of world domination thereabouts, but I'd beg to differ. Gaining control of the Wumpa Islands isn't that amazing, but it's a start all the same. Usurping your darling Uncle of his master plan and winning over his disloyal minions isn't that bad, either, although it's not that difficult if your Uncle happens to be Neo Cortex.

Gotta give him a little bit of credit, mind you. He had some of the basics down pat. Working your way to the top is hard, so a truckload of mutants helps a lot. Technology is always going to get the upper hand, so make your machines as big and as dangerous as possible. Etcetera etcetera.

Oh, and get other people to do the boring work.

"Going well, Coco?"

She only nods in a vague sort of way, and continues on with the task I have set her. It's quite amusing to see her as she is now; quiet and submissive. Much better than how she is normally. Far too noisy, far too–what's that word she'd use? –"sassy", perhaps. The most appropriate word I could pick out would be "dumb", but I throw that word about far too easily. Gotta "improve my vocabulary" and all that rubbish.

Anyway, yeah, the mind controlling seems to have done Coco a whole lot of good. I can actually get a word or two in without her spouting off stupid comments about my appearance. If I actually wanted her–or anyone's, for that matter–opinion, I'd ask her. Seriously, though, the way she goes on usually… On my_ last_ visit over at Uncle's place, where we all got stuck in some wacko's amusement park, the girl was practically foaming at the mouth every time I walked past her. You'd think she was secretly stalking me. Still, I didn't actually pay much attention to her, up until now, and she seems to be the sort of girl who can't stand not being in the limelight. Typical. She'd better get used to it, because someday she won't be able to just be cute and sassy to win people over, she'll have to work hard. Or get herself a mind control device.

"Nina?"

She's stopped her work, looking over at me with dull eyes, half-finished mechanical component clanking awfully behind her as it turns around on incomplete spokes.

"Coco?" She hasn't really spoken up much, until now, so this is mildly surprising. Still, since mind control basically is a form of forcefully controlled day-dreaming, it isn't unlikely that Coco will "sleep talk" from time to time. Come to think of it, it might be interesting to see what sort of inane things the girl might say.

The bandicoot seems to be struggling to piece a coherent sentence together. Well, more than usual, anyway. She takes a few steps towards me, unsure.

"Your hands…" Coco says finally, "Did they hurt?"

"…_What_?"

I've got to admit, that's stumped me. I wasn't expecting that sort of a comment at all. My hands aren't a big subject to talk about, really. They're useful in squashing, reaching and crushing; they're a pain to manicure, and that's about it. I suppose they're not the kind of hands you see on most girls my age but, hey, I'm pretty happy to stand apart from most people. Sure, they hurt when I first had my old hands replaced, but the benefits have far outweighed the difficulties.

She takes a few more steps and reaches for one of my hands, unfazed when I whip it out of her reach. Her glassy eyes continue staring.

"You're not going to make it through life if you never let people touch you."

She's wrong there, so wrong. People make it through life successfully by being disaffected by the trivial things in life. I'm a successful person, despite a few stumbles. I will remain to be a successful person. I'm the only one who matters in the grand scheme of things, and anything or anyone else just gets me sidetracked and delays my future.

She reaches for my hand again, and for a moment I let her. It feels wrong. Maybe in another world, another lifetime, I wouldn't have such convictions about such a stupid and simple gesture. In this world such a thing conveys so much more. I'm not the sort of girl to fall for stupid things like that. And still, for that one moment, I let her hold my hand.

It can't last. It can't, and it won't. I push her away with suitable force; she flinches, almost as if in hurt, but backs away nonetheless. I won't ever let anyone touch me, inflict me with some twisted illness of the mind, poison my futures. Especially not her.

"Get back to work, Coco."

She dutifully goes back to that awful clanking component without even batting an eyelid; back to her task of piecing together the Doominator; constructing her own fate. That strange moment has passed, everything's back to normal, and yet I don't feel happy about it.

She did something to me back there. I really don't know what, but I don't like it, and I never want it to happen to me again. I won't let it happen again. I'll pinpoint what it was, what I can do to prevent it, distance myself suitably…

Wait a minute, serious personal reflection?

Feh, I'll just go and blast some cute animals instead.


End file.
